


A New Perspective

by amyoatmeal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Art, Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Baywatch References, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Blind Date, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Date, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, No Angst, Sexual Humor, foot in mouth disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyoatmeal/pseuds/amyoatmeal
Summary: A recently dumped Dean is begrudgingly dragged off of his couch by his brother Sam to attend an art show.  As it turns out, getting off the couch can be a good thing sometimes.





	A New Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emblue_Sparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/gifts).

> The third and final Fic Facers prompt!! For one, Emblue_Sparks. 
> 
> She gave me kind of a free for all with the prompt and told me to write whatever I wanted, but I know she hates angst.  
Almost all of my work is heavy on the angst, and yet for you, I've managed to create something with absolutely NO ANGST LOL. This feels like totally foreign territory for me, so I hope you and everyone else enjoys this once in a blue moon opportunity because I plan on punching everyone else in the feels with all my other wips. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think in the comments! xx

“Just come out, Dean,” Sam prompted for the umpteenth time. “It’s been weeks! You need to get out of the house!”

Dean was currently swathed in a loose pair of sweatpants and a sleep-wrinkled tee -- An outfit he’d been wearing for the better part of a week. Maybe longer. Hell, he wasn’t even sure now that he thought about it, disturbing as that was, but Sam didn’t need to know that much. That would just be more ammo for him to bitch about.

Wiping the fluorescent cheese dust from his fingers onto the front of his shirt, Dean rolled his eyes at his obnoxious younger brother’s whiny persistence. “Let me get this straight… You came all the way over here to drag me out of the house?”

“Yes,” he admitted, albeit a little incredulously. 

“And Jess put you up to this?”

“It’s her first art show, Dean! She’s waiting out in the car!”

Truthfully, he had forgotten all about that. “First of all,” Dean held up a finger, “the Prius? Not a car.”

“It's economical,” argued Sam.

“It’s an imposter. That’s a fact.” Obstinately settling himself further into the plush sofa back, Dean glared at him as held up a second finger, “Second… I hate to break it to you, Sammy, but if you’re trying to lure me out of the house with, what… A hoity toity art show? It’s not gonna work.”

It’s not as though he had anything against Jess -- hell, they got on great and she really was an equal match for Sam -- but an art show really wasn’t his bag and they all knew that. To Dean, looking at art, especially that weird abstract crap that Jess liked so much, may as well have been staring at drywall. Even then, drywall might’ve been more interesting.

“Jesus, Dean, show a little support! One of Jess’ classmates is showing their stuff too and she wants you to meet them. Besides, I think you’d really get something from it. You know, maybe a little more than staring at Pamela Anderson’s rack in slow-motion for the hundredth time,” Sam added, throwing a critical glare at the television screen.

Dean scoffed. “Now that is art! If you can’t see that you’re beyond saving, dude. Besides, I’m in it for Caroline.” To emphasize his point, he reached the remote around Sam’s towering frame and dialed up the volume on the intro of yet another Baywatch re-run, singing the words under his breath right along with the vocal stylings of Jimi Jamison as Yasmine Bleeth’s character Caroline appeared on screen. 

Let’s be real, he was watching it for Matt Brody just as much. What could he say? He was a sucker for dark hair and light eyes and that guy had both in spades. 

“C’mon, Dean, it’s one night of your life! You can’t wallow in self-pity forever. Jess and I are really starting to worry about you, dude.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled around a mouthful of cheese curls. “I am not wallowing.” He was simply… eating his feelings.

Sam raised his hands to his hips and stared down at him with that stupid constipated face of his, acting like he knew more about Dean than Dean did. 

“Just let it out, Sam,” he groaned.

Sam sighed. Softer, he said, “She dumped you, man. You gotta move on. It’s time to get back out there -- live a little.”

“Yeah, well, I bet Yasmine wouldn’t dump me,” he muttered scathingly, chomping down on another handful. 

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” Sam somehow said unironically, “but you won’t find them on the couch.” Dean didn’t budge and they seemed to have reached an impasse, but Sam wasn’t giving up that easily. He sighed. “For what it’s worth... there will be complimentary wine and cheese,” he supplied in a last ditch effort to heave Dean out of his ass print.

“...Complimentary… as in free.” 

“Typically, yeah.”

Begrudgingly, Dean’s sour expression slipped just the slightest of hints and his ears perked up like a cartoon dog. He eyed Sam warily from across the coffee table. “...What kinda cheese?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Is that really important?”

“Right now, I’d say it’s your best shot. So, c’mon, Sammy. Humor me.”

“I dunno,” he said with a wry expression, uselessly tossing his hands in the air. “Probably a variety.”

Tentatively, Dean rolled up the bag of artificial cheese curls, eyeing his brother as he did. Mulling it over. “Fine,” he muttered, trying not to sound eager to get out of the house, “I’ll go.” He didn’t want Sam to know he was sick of smelling his own B.O. just as much as he was. “But only if we take Baby instead. I’m not being seen downtown in that ‘economical’ death trap.”

The answer seemed to shock Sam. His eyes flew wide and he seemed at a loss for words, any and all attempts at a counter argument dying on his lips. “Well, okay… That’s… That’s great. I’ll go tell Jess.” 

“Yeah, you do that. Don't expect me to enjoy myself though,” he warned as he got to his feet. “I’m just doing this for Jess, so don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Got it. No enjoyment necessary.” Sam headed for the door and paused just shy of it when Dean started heading towards his bedroom. “You should definitely shower first by the way. You smell like shit,” he added before slipping out.

Dean groaned again, but couldn’t find it in his heart to disagree.

***

After about five loops around the neighborhood, they managed to find a parking spot and pulled up along the curb of a busy downtown street. Almost as soon as Dean shifted the car to park, Sam and Jess were reaching for the door handles, but Dean wasn’t budging from behind the wheel. 

Sam dipped his head window-level to stare expectantly at him from behind the flop of hair hanging over his eyes. With an exasperated sigh, he asked, “Are you going to get out?”

His outfit looked okay. He was aiming for dressy-casual; one of his better pairs of jeans without the rips and a clean, wrinkle-free button down shirt. Having showered and applied deodorant, he was looking and smelling decent enough, but he still didn’t really want to go in. 

Dean flipped the idea around, eyes averting to stare at his lap instead of his brother. “I dunno, feel pretty good right here.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Wasn’t aware we made a deal, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You have to actually interact with other human beings, Dean. Nobody cares if you don’t know anything about art. Just look at it.”

“Please, Dean,” Jess chimed in from somewhere behind his shoulder, voice overly saccharine. 

It worked. Dean sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled, “But just cuz you asked so sweet.” 

“I can’t wait for you to meet Cassie!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Heaving himself out of the car, Dean tossed Jess a wink on his way around and glared at Sam as he passed him on the curb. “Somebody better show me where the wine and cheese are at first.”

The art gallery was surprisingly full compared to Dean’s expectations, which was all-around the complete opposite of what he’d been hoping for on the drive over. Lots of people in suit jackets. Lots of hoity toity people talking about form and composition. Colors. Materials. Intent. Sam and Jess disappeared somewhere in the crowd, probably to loiter by Jess’ work and talk to the locals, but Dean had already seen it often enough, so he went his own way. 

Last thing he needed was to try to be set up with some artist chick Jess knew. Artist’s were practically known for being batshit crazy. The good ones anyway.

As Dean made his way to the hors d'oeuvres table, he couldn’t really pick one conversation interesting enough to eavesdrop on for longer than a few seconds. He found the table off in the far corner with its pristine, white tablecloth spread out with an array of cheeses and other more questionable items. He stuffed his cheeks full to bursting with the stuff, grabbing more to peck at, and nabbed a glass of wine from one of the catering staff as they passed by. He wasn’t a huge fan of red wine all things considered, but free is free, so he took a few inelegant gulps as he meandered towards a large collection of paintings haphazardly hung on the wall.

They were... weird. And that was being generous.

The first one he noticed, a large, imposing thing set in the middle of the cluster, took up most of the wall space. A rectangular canvas bathed in the rusted hue of dried blood, cut through with blackened smudges that reminded him of barbed wire. The red was bursting through the lines like it was being squeezed. And coming in from the top of the canvas was an ethereal streak of bright white paint. Dean knew it probably had some far-reaching profound symbolism behind it, but he was half a glass in and the only thing this painting was screaming at him was: 

“Holy shit, that’s a massive dick.”

He choked on his wine a little when he saw it, hastily looking around to see if anyone else noticed him making a mess of himself in the middle of the room, or more importantly, if anyone was seeing what he was seeing. Fortunately, most everyone else was absorbed in conversation. Everyone except one other guy who looked just as miserable about being dragged out to a local art show as Dean felt. All brooding stoicism and reclusion. Dark hair and blue eyes. A real Matt Brody type, but presumably with a bigger brain. And he was looking at this bizarro painting that Dean was currently having a conniption over, eyebrows twisting, like he was wondering why there was a big ol’ dick hanging in the middle of this hoity toity art show too.

Hedging his bets, Dean sidled up next to him as he noisily slurped on his wine. He contemplated tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention, but his hands were full of hors d’oeuvres. He decided to try to flirt instead. 

“So, who dragged you to this shindig?” he asked lightly in an attempt to start a conversation, closer to the guy than he’d intended.

The question startled him out of his internal reverie and he turned to look at Dean then, entirely too blue eyes going slightly wider. Not a statue then. “I’m sorry... what?”

Dean chuckled. “You look about as miserable and out of place as I feel, so I figured someone musta dragged you into this hell like they did me.”

Slowly, appraisingly, the guy gave Dean a once over and Dean felt himself blush, if only slightly. The guy must’ve liked what he saw because he turned his body then, to face Dean more fully. “No, unfortunately the only one that dragged me out here was myself.” He went back to half-heartedly analyzing the painting to his left, as Dean scanned the room. 

“Hey,” Dean said to garner his attention again, “You look like you know a thing or two about this stuff. Can I ask you somethin’?”

The guy hesitated, wetting his lips. He seemed nervous just to be talking with Dean, but eventually he assented. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Dean inched closer, lowering his voice as he leaned in to ask, “You think this painting looks like a massive dick or is it just me?”

His eyebrows went all screwy again and he regarded Dean where he stood. “I think it’s just you.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, c’mon, you’re tellin’ me you don’t see it?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s right there!” Dean gestured to it then with his hand full of food, shaping the vague outline of a dick just to get this guy to understand. “How are you not seein’ this?”

“This painting is about surmounting obstacles and discovering one’s identity. It is in no way, shape, or form a depiction of male genitalia. Just because you’re too primitive to understand the artist’s statement doesn’t mean you’re right.”

Dean scoffed around a mouthful of crackers, crumbs flying out of his mouth. “Who are you callin’ primitive?”

The guy scrunched his nose in disdain. “If it quacks like a duck…”

“Oh, please. You know what I think? I think an ‘artist’s statement’ is bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I said it. You ever hear of a little thing called ‘The Death of the Author’? Barthes said it best, but really, it doesn’t matter what this is supposed to be about. Arts for other people to interpret however they want. So if I see a big ol’ massive dick, that’s what this painting is about.”

The guy considered it, but shook his head. “I’ve never read it, but that’s not how it works. You can’t just decide.”

“Sure I can. I’m sure all you artsy types have heard of Georgia O’Keeffe, right? Are you going to stand there and tell me she isn’t known for painting persqueeter?”

“Georgia O'Keeffe painted flowers and animals skulls, she did not paint vaginas. Her work was not about vaginas,” he argued.

“Maybe not, but that’s not what I asked. Whether she painted ‘em or not, that’s her claim to fame, dude. She is known for it and she didn’t even do it. You can’t tell me you mention her name and someone isn’t instantly thinking about pussy, can you? Hell, I’m thinking about it right now and you are too.”

The guy refrained from an eye roll, shaking his head, but he couldn’t deny it. “What’s your point?”

“My point… is that this painting could be about the fucking Irish Potato Famine of 1845 or the Great Wall of friggin’ China, but it still looks like a massive dick, dude. This guy’s gonna forever be known as the artist that paints massive dicks.”

It was his turn to scoff. “I highly doubt this painting will be talked about forever.”

“I mean it’s still good, but more like O’Keeffe…” He nodded to himself then. “Definitely no Rembrandt that’s for sure,” he muttered.

The remark caused the guy to falter. Tentatively, he asked, “You know Rembrandt?”

Dean laughed. “No, dude. I just know this isn’t one of his.” 

And if wonder never ceased, the guy actually cracked a smile at that. It was a real good look on him. “So, you think it’s good?”

“Sure I do.” Inching closer, Dean sized up the work, analyzing the brushstrokes and color choices. Checking the wall, he found the artist’s statement and took that into consideration too just to try to see what this guy was seeing. “Cas-tee-el Novak,” he enunciated around a bite of cheese. “You know if this guy’s around so I can tell him I love his massive schlong?”

The guy’s face turned a similar shade of beet red to the painting in front of them and just then, out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam and Jess excitedly approaching the two of them with actual amused grins on both their faces. “Cassie!!” squealed Jess, and when they got closer, she flocked to the blushing guy, throwing her arms around his neck and smacked an overzealous kiss to his cheek. “This is Sam’s brother Dean, but I can see you two have already met!”

Dean choked a little on his cheese. Clearing his throat, he asked, “You’re Cassie?” 

“And you’re Dean.”

Looking over at the artist’s statement, he blanched. “...Cassie short for Castiel?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said, shit-eating grin now pasted on his face. “I believe you had something you wanted to tell me.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush. “I-- well, I,” he stuttered.

“What have you two been talking about?” Jess asked with a curious smile on her face.

For a second, Dean actually thought this fucker was going to tell them about the dicks, but he didn’t. Thank God. “Dean was just teaching me about Barthes and the difference between artistic intent versus artistic perception.”

“He was?” Sam’s face scrunched. “...We are talking about my brother Dean, right?”

“The very same.”

“Damn straight I was,” mumbled Dean, mostly still embarrassed.

This guy, Castiel, laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder and the stupid blush returned like it never left. “It was very enlightening, Dean. It’s certainly given me a new perspective to consider going forward. So, thank you.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Dean peeled his eyes from the spot the guy was touching on his arm to look him in the eye. He was smiling at him, sincerely. He gulped. “You’re welcome.”

Sam and Jess shared a silent look at their expense and grinned to each other like the shits that they were. “We’re actually thinking about going to grab some food after this and we were wondering if you wanted to join us, Cassie?” Jess asked, entirely too obvious given the context.

Castiel looked between the three of them then. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said.

“No imposition, Cas,” Dean chimed in, “Baby’s got a pretty big backseat.” He found himself feeling pretty hopeful, despite having to shove his entire foot into his mouth again. If he survived the rest of the night being around this guy, it would be a miracle. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile at the car’s endearment and any adjoining implications. He nodded slowly. “In that case, I’d love to.”

“Great!” Jess smiled a little too wide. “We’ll meet you guys outside in an hour!”

“Yeah, you do that,” said Dean, catching onto their scheming, but not minding one bit.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Castiel stepped closer to him, facing him again. “You should go enjoy the rest of the gallery, Dean,” he suggested lowly, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Maybe he was getting a lot ahead of himself just then, but he really liked the sound of that. “What, you don’t want to come look at it with me? I smell or somethin’?”

“I should really stand by my work in case I get any more enlightening discussions like yours, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, feeling a bit like a middle school girl with a new crush, “See you then.”

***

An hour passed like watching paint dry. Dean didn’t bother with approaching other artists because he was too busy thinking about going to dinner with Castiel and even with all the hors d’oeuvres he ate, his stomach was ready to eat some more.

They met outside on the sidewalk, Castiel now donning what appeared to be a hand-knit chunky scarf, and walked the few blocks to the car in that kind of awkward silence that can only be reserved for a first date, even though this wasn’t really a first date, was it? Approaching the car, Sam and Jess piled in the back like they’d planned this entire thing, forcing Castiel to sit in the front with him. Based on the fact that Dean was blushing without even having said anything, it might as well have been. He started her engine up with a reverberating purr and the radio clicked onto a classic rock station. 

Once they were safely on the road, Castiel spoke. “You have a very nice car, Dean,” he said. “You must take very good care of it.”

Dean looked to him then, his cheeks pink from the cold or from being this close to one another. “Yeah, Cas, it does, but Baby’s worth it,” he said with a proud grin. 

“It shows.”

“Mmmh. Those two in the back tell you to ask me about my car, or what?”

“No, of course not,” he said with a small smile. “Why would they do that?”

Dean flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror to find Sam and Jess pointedly looking out the windows. “Oh, I dunno, beats me.”

They agreed to go to the Roadhouse on the grounds that it was close by and Ellen always let them drink for free. Nabbing a table for four, Dean found himself squeezed into a booth next to Castiel again, with that same blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. 

Get it together Winchester, he thought to himself. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d ever had to flirt with anybody, but for whatever reason this guy was bringing out his inner dumbass like nobody’s business. 

Just then, Ellen’s daughter Jo approached the table looking less than jazzed about them taking up one of her tables. “Not you two again,” she bemoaned, getting her pad of paper out of her apron. Once upon a time, Dean and Sam helped Ellen fix the plumbing and they’ve never had to pay for a drink since, he explained to the table. Everybody knew that already, including Jo. “I still expect a really good tip.”

“When have we ever not left you a really good tip, Joanna Beth?” Dean countered. 

Jo simply rolled her eyes in response because she knew it was true. “Anyway, what can I get you folks?”

Dean, Sam, and Jess ordered theirs first. Going into this, Dean would have guessed that a guy like Cas would order something like water with a lemon wedge or some fruity cocktail drink, but he didn’t. To Dean’s surprise, he ordered the same beer as him. They got the drinks in record time; it was dead as a doornail in there anyway.

“Do we need menus?” asked Castiel, looking to the three of them in confusion.

“Listen, Cas…” When Jo walked back to the bar, Dean turned to him then. “Here’s the thing you need to know about the Roadhouse,” he said under his breath. “The food here is awful and that’s coming from me. I’ve eaten literal garbage better than this place.” Sam and Jess laughed from the other side of the booth, but really couldn’t disagree. “There’s only two good things on the menu here and that’s booze and grease. You got that?”

“Yes, awful food.” He laughed. “Why are we here again?”

“Atmosphere, obviously.” Dean gestured to the peeling wallpaper and string lights beside their booth and laughed. “I really hope you’re not one of those guys that orders the side salad because the side salad here doesn’t exist.”

“No, salads. Got it,” he said, taking a foamy sip of his beer, “Though, for what it’s worth, I was actually going to order a cheeseburger.”

Well, wasn’t he just full of surprises. “A guy after my own heart,” quipped Dean with a wide grin, grabbing his own beer.

Sam leaned in then and chuckled. “You’re in luck, Cas. That’s pretty much the only decent thing to eat here.”

The four of them got the cheeseburger because they didn’t really have a choice. They were greasy and gooey and warm, and just the kind of thing Dean was looking for in the moment. Based on the way Castiel hadn’t said much since the plate landed in front of him, he must’ve felt the same way and Dean wasn’t really one to argue with that. Eating didn’t require talking in his professional opinion.

Sam and Jess were involved in their own conversation about some of the pieces they’d seen at the art show when Castiel moaned around the last bite of his burger. Dean nearly choked when he sucked the grease off his fingers. His mouth went dry in spite of the burger. Out of nowhere he found himself asking, “Anyone ever tell you, you could pass for Matt Brody?” The question just sort of fell out and every single part of him wished he could put it back where it came from.

Castiel wiped his mouth and hands with the paper napkins, head tilting as he regarded Dean beside him. “Who’s Matt Brody?”

Dean chuckled to himself. “What, you mean you’ve never seen Baywatch?”

“No, I can’t say that I have... Should I?”

“I’m gonna level with you, Cas. If you have any good taste at all, the short answer is yes.” He took a bite of his burger, mumbling around it. “Am I gonna have to educate you on all the finer points of history or is this just an off night for you?”

Castiel shook his head and smiled. “Must just be an off night, I suppose. But I’d like that.”

“Like what?”

“For you to educate me on the things you’re passionate about,” he said coyly.

Dean cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I dunno if I’m passionate about Baywatch…”

“He is,” Sam interjected out of nowhere and Jess giggled at Dean’s grumpy face. “Matt Brody is his man-crush. He’s watched about a hundred episodes of Baywatch this week alone. Don’t even get him started on his crush on Pamela Anderson’s boobs or you might never hear about anything else. Not mentioning it is really a public service at this point.”

Dean glared at him from across the booth. “You can stop talking now, Sammy. Like, forever. Besides, I already told you, Yasmine’s better.” 

Castiel simply snorted. “This is good information to have. I know now to avoid all mentions of Pamela Anderson in the future. I’m sure it’ll be difficult topic to avoid, but if for the greater good...” he teased, and Dean rolled his eyes, but he found himself hiding a smile in his burger all the same.

In the future. Who was this guy and where had he been all this time?

***

Dinner passed by in the blink of an eye. Not long enough, in Dean’s opinion. He might not be the best to bring to an art show, but stuffing his face was like an old, familiar friend. It didn’t help that he’d just made a new one and wasn’t really done getting to know him, but it was getting late. Castiel needed to be dropped off at home, Sam and Jess still needed to get dropped off at their “car”. Piling back into the Impala, Dean put her in drive. 

They swapped jokes on the way home, most of which were held at Dean’s expense, but it was worth it because it got the guy to smile at him a few times. As it turned out, Castiel didn’t live too far from his apartment, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up too much about whatever that could mean ‘in the future’. 

In no time at all, he was pulling up alongside the curb across the Castiel’s apartment building, engine stalling as much as he seemed to be. 

“I had a very nice time tonight,” Castiel said, nodding to Jess and Sam in the backseat before settling his sights on Dean again. “It was very nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah, you too, Cas.”

He seemed to hesitate with his hand on the handle, but with a small smile he opened the door and climbed out of the car. Within seconds, Jess was whacking Dean in the back of the head. “What are you doing?” She hissed under her breath.

Dean turned to glare at her. “Uh, I was driving the car…”

“Go walk him to the door!”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do on a date!”

Confused, he asked, “Since when was this a date?” Sam and Jess gave him a look that just highlighted how much of a doofus he felt like. One that said he’d been set up before he even got off the couch earlier. “This wasn’t really about the art show was it?”

Castiel was already heading across the street when Dean got out of the car to follow after him. “Cas, wait up!” He looked both ways before he crossed the street and jogged up to him on the sidewalk. 

Curiously, his head tilted in that slightly endearing way it had most of the evening. “Dean? What is it?”

Dean breathed out a laugh and shook his head, he really was getting out of shape sitting on the couch eating cheese curls for the last few weeks. “It’s been brought to my attention that this whole thing was a set-up. Were you hip to all this?”

Castiel looked to the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his wool coat as he began to meander down the sidewalk. His mouth tilted up in another small smile. “I might have been shown a photo of Sam’s brother last week in the studio with the disclaimer that you were recently single and that I might be ‘your type’,” he admitted. “I was also warned you might not be so willing to come out. Though, I’m very glad you did.”

Falling in step with him, Dean snorted. “My type, huh? And what did they tell you my type was?”

“Something about a Matt Brody,” he said. “For the record, you’re very much mine.”

“Yeah?” Dean felt his face heat up quick. Not like he could deny it now. “And what’s yours?” 

Castiel pondered the question before he met Dean’s eye. “I find I like just about anyone who’s willing to discuss my art with me. Most people aren’t willing to be as forthcoming as you, Dean. It’s refreshing,” he said, “So, thank you.”

“Ain’t no thing,” Dean murmured, bashfully scratching the hair on the back of his neck as they came to stand under the light of Castiel’s building. Castiel reached into his pocket then to find his keys and somehow Dean mustered up the courage to ask, “Hey, uh, Cas? Would you wanna do this again sometime? Maybe without the two meddlers in the backseat?” 

They looked to the car then and sure enough the two were practically pressed against the window to watch them. Castiel smiled and waved before turning back to Dean. “I’d like that,” he said without missing a beat. “Maybe I could show you some Rembrandt and you can show me who this Matt Brody guy is.”

“It’s a date,” Dean said as breezily as possible. But damn, it really was. They stood there under the light for what could have been seconds or minutes or the whole damn night. Hell if Dean knew. Normally at the end of his dates he got a kiss, but he also wasn’t usually the nervous one either. His palms were sweating despite the cold. Shoving them into the pockets of his leather jacket he shrugged. “Well, g’night, Cas--”

“Dean, wait,” he started, hand gripping the crook of his arm. Leaning into his space, Dean almost thought Castiel was going to kiss him, but he didn’t; Dean’s stomach dropped out his ass just the same. He leaned further to whisper in his ear, “I just want you to know… my painting... is entirely supposed to be a dick.” 

“I knew it!” he shouted a little too loudly, disbelieving laugh erupting out of his chest. “You’re a real fucker, you know that, right?”

When he pulled back he was fighting off a broad grin, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yes, I’ve also heard I have a ‘massive schlong’ too,” he said, complete with finger quotes

Dean groaned internally and closed his eyes. “Really couldn’t let that one die, could you?”

“Perhaps if all goes well, you can find out for yourself,” he added with a wink just before turning the key in the lock and Dean knew then he looked like a babbling idiot out here on the sidewalk. “Goodnight, Dean. I’ll be in touch.”

Dean gulped. “Yeah, uh, yeah. Goodnight, Cas.”

Heading back to the car, Dean settled in behind the wheel feeling a few degrees too warm for such a cold night. He started up the car and pointedly ignored the torrent of questions pouring in from the backseat the entire drive home. He figured the smile he couldn’t fight off was answer enough.

Dropping Sam and Jess off at the Prius, Dean asked Sam to stay behind for a second as Jess got in the passenger side. “Hey, uh, thanks, I guess. For doin’ this. I know I’m not really open or whatever… uh, about that, so just… Thanks.”

Sam smiled through his bumbling attempt at appreciation. “No problem, Dean.”

“Just, uh, what-- what gave me away?”

“Your DVR,” he said with a chuckle.

Slowly, Dean nodded. “Well, there it is, huh.” Maybe it was about time he got a new perspective too. 

“There it is,” Sam agreed, smile never leaving his face. “Glad you came out with us.”

“Yeah, me too.” Self-consciously, Dean scanned the street before tugging Sam into one of those awkward one-armed bro hugs, but it meant more than that, he just didn’t have the words to say it. Whatever it was, Sam got it. He always did. “Night, Bitch.”

“Night, Jerk.”

**Author's Note:**

> For reference lol:  



End file.
